


dry bones rattling

by red-maple-leafs (WritingReadingLaughing)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bi!Dean, Castiel Deserves Better (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Deserves Better, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Fix-It, Fluff, Heaven, Kinda, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Castiel (Supernatural), They Love Each Other OK, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingReadingLaughing/pseuds/red-maple-leafs
Summary: He would wait. After all, he was very proficient at it.Fix-it for the finale.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 95





	dry bones rattling

**Author's Note:**

> You know why we’re all here… Haven’t written fic in a good 7 years and can’t believe I’m back for this.
> 
> Unbeta’d and unedited. Please forgive any nonsensical wording, loads of repetition and odd formatting. I’m an ecologist, we don’t play in this sandbox much despite loving it.
> 
> Title from the song Rattle by Elevation Worship

The glorious thing about the Empty was just that – it was empty. No sound, no silence, not even darkness. It was just nothing. Looking back, it reminded Castiel of that one time Dean had talked him into mixing weed and beer and promptly lost an entire weekend.

But regardless, it was quite nice not actually thinking for once. Not actually existing for once. Which was why it took a surprisingly long time for Castiel to realise he could, in fact, realise things. The muffled sound of silence, a tender stroke of a feather, the light breath of steam rising from a tea. Somewhere far away someone shrieked in… happiness? _Joy?_ It had been so long since he’d heard such unbridled pleasure. They didn’t often come across happy kids in the hunting business.

Castiel opened his eyes to a cabin ceiling. It was a nice ceiling, made of a varnished old spruce and nice and even. Relatively few knots, but those that were there were dark and stark and beautifully circular. That was what clued Castiel into the fact that this wasn’t just a normal morning. If there was anything Castiel had learned in his jaunt through the human world it was that nothing was ever, absolutely ever, a perfect circle.

Sitting up was an out of body experience where every nerve tingled, and he felt at home in his skin. Jimmy Novak had always felt a little too big for him. There always seemed to be an inch of space that he couldn’t seem to fill no matter how hard he tried. The closest he came to it was whenever he was with Dean. Every brush of knuckles over coffee, the rough scrape of stubble when they hugged made his heart swell and his shoulders stand up a tad straighter. The way the room just shifted slightly when Dean walked into the room, settling down into an unmistakable feeling of _right_.

Castiel’s heart skipped a beat.

Dean was here.

Dean was _here._

Castiel wrenched the door open, grabbing his trench coat from the hat stand. In his haste he nearly tripped over the door jam. Stumbling out on to the porch, Castiel swung his head side to side frantically. _He’s here he’s here he must be here_.

But no, there was no one there.

Castiel sighed and closed his eyes tight. He’d long since learned to temper his hopes and he’d found peace in that. Hell, he’d found genuine happiness in that, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. Castiel let his fists tighten until the nails dug into his palms, the smallest of emotional outlets he allowed himself, and then relaxed. All the tension in his body left all at once and he dropped down to sit on the cabin steps. A rhubarb cider, a copy of Virginia Woolf’s _Orlando_ , and an apple, which hadn’t been there earlier (or had they? Castiel struggled to remember), were stacked on top of each other beside him.

He would wait. After all, he was very proficient at it.

~ ~ ~

The children from down the road were sweet things. They played all day and tore up and down the dirt track on their bikes, always stopping to wave hello to him. When the leaves began to fall, Castiel swept up piles of leaves for them to jump in, and he would collect mushrooms and insects to leave on the porch. They never spoke and couldn’t even if they tried. That seemed to be one of the flaws of this new Heaven (and Castiel knew it was Heaven; his tea never went cold), where acquaintances merely flickered in and out like ghosts.

It was a simple life here and the days (Months? Years?) blended smoothly into one. Castiel never knew if he’d slept or woken or walked anywhere, he just existed in a moment. He felt untethered. He read books he’d watched the authors write, he walked paths he’d once helped create, he cooked meals the way Sam and Dean had taught him, and it should have been enough.

Of course, as with many things, this was fundamentally not true.

When Castiel last saw Dean – _when you told him you loved him_ – every word he’d said was true. He believed every word. Just being able to feel and to say to Dean exactly what he meant to him brought him pure joy, a rush through his veins that filled every part of him. It was a level of emotion he never thought he’d feel and by _God_ it made him happy.

Now, having had that feeling and lost it, having floated for who knows how long in the Empty and come back to himself, Castiel could confidently say he was an idiot. While he didn’t need Dean’s love to be happy, he needed a response, he needed closure, he needed _Dean._

~ ~ ~

It happened on just another unassuming day.

Castiel was out by the lake shore, tossing peas out to the ducks. He always made sure to bring a little something extra for his favourite goose Pinky, who seemed a little less able to fight for his treats. Even in Heaven, it seemed like there would always be a runt of the pack.

Pinky was just nibbling at his fingertips when a car pulled up to the cabin. The engine cut, the radio cut, and a door opened and slammed. Pine needles crunched underfoot. Castiel couldn’t turn around. His heart was pumping in his ears.

“Cas…” Dean stepped forward to stand next to him and the two of them stared out over the water. Castiel could feel himself sway ever so slightly closer. For better or for worse he’d never been able to fight the urge to be near this man.

“Hello Dean.” Castiel unstuck his tongue for long enough to rasp out a greeting. He hadn’t spoken in so long. He felt rusty, and he felt rusty talking to Dean of all people. This man who he had gone to the end with and, given the chance, would do exactly the same all over again.

Dean coughed and looked down at his feet. He shifted his weight. Castiel closed his eyes slowly, a habit he’d ironically picked up from Dean, a way of stealing himself for what was coming. Fingers pulled at the bag of peas and he let go slowly, allowing Dean to take them from him. Dean tossed a handful of peas out into the water. They were quickly set on by piles of feathers.

“Bobby said you did this, helped Jack make Heaven?” _Did I?_ Cas said nothing, everything was focused on the heat of Dean’s hand beside his.

“I’ve been looking for you, you know? Been driving all over the place trying to find you…” Dean’s voice broke slightly, and he stopped. Cas felt more than saw him squaring his shoulders “I know I’m bad at this, I’m not one for words but my God Cas, you have me, you always did.”

Dean stepped forward and turned towards Cas, closing the distance between the two of them. He rested his forehead gently against Cas’s and Cas… Cas melted into him. His breath shuddered out of his chest. Their fingers threaded together, and for once there was no where they needed to be. There was no rush the world.

They had all the time they wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> Is Pinky a real goose? Yes. Is he a bit beat up and the light of my life? Yes.
> 
> Also, feed ducks peas not bread, it’s more nutritious and won’t bloat them too much.


End file.
